The Boy in the Woods
by reverie2021
Summary: Three year old Sai and his young mother make a tragic journey into the woods looking for his father. A short imagination of how Sai fell into Danzo's hands.


The Boy in the Woods

The pouring rain beat mercilessly against the wooden walls of the little cabin. The pounding of the autumn storm blended with the distant sounds of fighting—steel clashing, faraway angry shouting, all softened by the incessant, indifferent falling rain and intermittent thunder. The child sat on the worn wooden floor and played quietly with his stuffed toy lion, confident and comfortable in the security of his mother's presence. The lion's soft mane curled in a cascade of woven golden yarn against the velvet softness of the its slim body.

"He's not afraid," he told his mother, holding up the lion and looking at her with his big dark eyes. She paused her packing and leaned over to kiss the softness of his silky black hair falling in jagged bangs across his small pale face. He was three years old now and already able to express himself quite well. His little voice gave life to his toy lion, roaring bravely while his mother packed his crayons and drawing paper along with the rest of their belongings.

She stood up at last and held her hand out to him with a smile. He reached up still clutching his lion in his other hand. She tugged him into his jacket and pulled the hood over his head. The noises of the battle had been growing steadily closer. It was time to move. The cabin was unprotected, not under the dominion of any particular village. She helped the child slide his arms into his small backpack and then pulled her own coat around her. The child looked at her expectantly. She lifted her own bag over her shoulder and took his tiny hand in hers. "Ready to be brave?" The child nodded uncertainly and tucked his lion inside his coat as they headed out into the rain.

It was a full day's journey to the next unmarked cabin. She and the child's father had picked this route of small cabins months ago. A civilian and soldier from warring, enemy nations. He could be arrested as a traitor, she would be held for harboring the enemy. And their child, well she didn't want to think about it. They trudged along in the rain through the muddy pathways covered in fallen leaves. She picked him up and laid him against her shoulder when he couldn't walk any further. The weight of him was warm against her body, his soft damp hair brushing her face.

She swallowed her panic at the sound of rustling in the encroaching darkness. Waking the child gently, she stood him on the ground and motioned to him to be silent. His wide dark eyes looked at her obediently and he stood so, so still. She threw herself over the child feeling the impact of something thin and sharp in her back. The child breathed heavily beneath her grip. Her head felt light as she stood and stumbled with him towards the cabin.

It rained for so long that the first rays of light in the cabin the next day hurt the child's eyes. He huddled next to his mother on the floor. She was still dressed in her coat, her body was becoming stiff and cold. The child got up and moved about the room eating crackers from his bag but returned to her side eventually, clutching his lion. Placing his lion on the floor, he reached for a crayon from his backpack and began to draw the lion on one of his little pieces of paper. He felt reasonably satisfied with the result and brought it over to his mother's face. She still didn't move when he tugged at her so he snuggled up next to her waiting for her to wake up.

The child had no concept of time. It was shiny daylight when the door swung open. The men with their swords slung behind their backs looked around the small cabin with disappointment. A mostly empty room with a civilian corpse and a child who was too small to be of use. They would send the orphan corps later. One of the men, older and tall, with a face half covered in bandages, approached the child. The child clutched his lion and pressed himself closer into his mother's side. The old man could feel the child's chakra. He picked up the child's little drawing.

"Can you speak?" His voice was sharp but not entirely unkind.

"I'm waiting for my father." the child said quietly, it was almost a whisper in his small shaking voice.

"There is no one left alive here. You are alone now." He waited for the child to absorb what he had said. "Come with me," he held out his hand. "Let's find you a brother."


End file.
